The Word
The word,
But spoken,
Even broken,
It’s heard.
It’s a soup stirred,
A flavored token,
Even when woken.
It’s blurred.
It comes through me through you,
Touched by our blessings in a day,
It simply just passes through.
It sets you well on your way.
The word is your physical suture,
Mending you for an awesome future!
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2009
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